


I’ll Give You Heaven

by funkyfood4



Category: Henry V - Shakespeare, The King (2019)
Genre: Crying, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-15 23:20:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28821399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/funkyfood4/pseuds/funkyfood4
Summary: Falstaff reflects on his ever-changing relationship with Hal. His friend, his companion, his lover, his king.(Or: a series of fix-it vignettes. Rating may change.)
Relationships: Sir John Falstaff/Henry V of England, Sir John Falstaff/Prince Hal (Shakespeare)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 12





	1. Angelic

John remembers the first time Hal came to his bed. 

The air that night was cool, but John was warm with food and drink. He had already begun to take off his linen undershirt when he noticed Hal leaning on the doorway, eyeing his naked torso.

A lone collarbone was sticking out of his shirt. His unruly hair covered his eyes. His skin was so pallid he could have passed as a fallen angel, John thought. The moonlight streaming through the window only seemed to enhance his delicate features. He looked beautiful. He was beautiful.

Hal turned to close the door behind him. They were finally alone. After a night of empty revelries spent with unimportant people they were finally alone.

John had known immediately what Hal wanted. He could see it in his eyes. Hal’s pupils were blown wide with lust and longing.

“No, Hal. We cannot.” He had insisted at first. Even when Hal had begun to smooth his hands out over his naked chest.

“And why not? Why can’t we be together like this?” Hal had murmured into John’s neck, toying with the string on his pants.

“You are a man. It is unnatural.” And John knew his excuse sounded feeble, knew Hal wouldn’t budge in his resolve.

“You have been my faithful companion these many years, and I trust that you may always tell me the truth. Can you tell me in sincere verity that you do not feel the things that I do?” 

No, he couldn’t. And he would never dare lie to his Hal. So John allowed himself to be kissed. He allowed Hal to card his slender fingers through his hair. He stood, unmoving, when Hal removed his own clothing, and spread himself out on the bed. 

John had been dumbstruck. The warmth that spread through his loins at the image of the young man sprawled across the mattress was surprising, to say the least.

John had never put much thought to the idea of being with another man. Apparently Hal had, for he had come brandishing a bottle of oil he must’ve snatched from the kitchen. Hal had explained to him that they needed it for the slickness. It had perplexed John at first, but then again it had made perfect sense. Hal was not a woman, so of course they would need something to help slick the way.

Later, John began his ministrations as Hal had meticulously instructed. His eyes immediately screwed shut and John paused to ask if he was alright. Hal had nodded, although the stiffness of his body betrayed him. 

Despite Hal’s urges to keep going, John waited. He stroked Hal’s cheek with his calloused hand until his body finally began to relax. 

John took his time, ignoring Hal’s pleas and his own ache. He refused to hurt Hal. He refused to bring him more pain than he had already endured in his young life. John wanted to give him something good.

It was only after many more minutes, and nearly half the bottle of oil, that John deemed Hal ready for him. 

Hal keened sharply as John sunk into him. He almost stopped, almost pulled out completely at the high-pitched sound. Was his Hal in pain? 

No, he was not in pain. His eyes were wide with awe, his pupils blown with pleasure. There was a glint in them that John had never noticed before, a naive innocence that seemed to soften Hal’s entire demeanor. 

John began to move, slowly. His breathing hitched. The bed frame creaked under the pressure of them. 

It felt oddly familiar, being inside another man. Maybe even better than being with a woman. Or perhaps that is just because it’s Hal. 

Hal, who looked so brave and beautiful underneath him. Pure yet debauched, the definition of angelic. Hal had clawed at John’s back, urging him to quicken his pace. He was sure there would be marks there in the morning. 

John felt a wetness on his shoulder. It took him a moment to realize that it was not sweat, but Hal’s tears. Had he hurt him?

“Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.” Hal had pleaded, as tears continued to stream down his delicate face. He kept mumbling the phrase over and over. It sounded almost as if he was praying. 

Praying to John Falstaff of all people! The beautiful prince praying to the old drunken fool! 

And as John pounded into Hal with abandon, a strange feeling of lucidity overcame him. This is it, the closest to Heaven that John will ever be in this mortal realm. He is the one that should be praying. 

Not long after John’s epiphany, Hal came with a shuddering sob. His fingers dug deep into John’s shoulders. Every part of his body tensed before going lax against the sheets. 

John finished seconds later, pulling out quickly and shifting to his side, as not to crush Hal under his weight when he ultimately collapsed. 

Although they were both sweaty, Hal wasted no time in burrowing himself in John’s embrace. He clung to the other man as if he were the only thing that was keeping him from slipping into the abyss. 

Hal was still crying, John asked if he was in pain. 

“No, you did not hurt me.” Hal had hiccuped in reply. 

Hal seemed so small in his arms. John had never seen him like this, so vulnerable, so open. Now that he thinks about it, he had never even seen Hal cry before. He held him closer, and that seemed to be enough to satiate Hal. For soon he was fast asleep.


	2. Effeminate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is super short and not very important but I promise to update again soon!

They did not speak of that night for many weeks. Hal had already gone when John awoke the following morning. 

Hal continued to seek solace in between the thighs of prostitutes, and John continued to tease him for it. Nothing had changed, they had not changed. Life went on as if Hal had not come to his room that night, as if they had not bed down together, as if Hal had not sobbed into John’s arms afterward. 

Had he cried out of relief? Out of guilt? Disgust? Did Hal regret what they had done that night? If he did he did not say, and John was too frightened to ask. 

He continued to serve his Hal, his prince. Empty his sick bucket, remove the countless women from his bed before he awoke, as if he himself had not been in their position mere weeks ago. 

Word soon came that the King was ill, and that he requested to see his son. Hal had refused, angered by the request alone. 

One morning, after removing a particularly lovely girl from Hal’s quarters, John sat at the foot of his bed. Awaiting the denial he was bound to receive from what he was about to tell him. 

Hal groaned as he drifted away from slumber, eyes fluttering open. “What is it?” He grumbled. 

John did not speak for a long while as he gathered his wits. “Visit with your father.” He finally said. 

“Go away.” Hal rolled onto his side, facing away from John. His ribs seemed to protrude more than usual. When had he become so thin?

“If your father is indeed gravely ill enough to request your presence, then you must visit with him.” John sighed. “It should be better to regret having done so than it would to have not. If your father is ill, no matter your feelings for him, you must visit with him.”

Hal did not stir. Had he already fallen back asleep? Had the previous night been so strenuous? John shook the thought from his mind, swallowing back his jealousy.

“But...I say this not out of concern for our king’s well-being, but more for fear of the drunken soak to which you’ll be likely to succumb should you fail to heed his call and he were to die without you having squared your ledger.” 

A long silence befell them. John couldn’t help but count the freckles on Hal’s naked frame as he awaited a response. 

“My father already thinks me weak and effeminate. Why should I subject myself to more humiliation?” Hal mumbled without turning. 

Effeminate? Did Hal think himself effeminate? Was it John’s fault? Was it because he had been in the position of the woman when they had—.

“I don’t regret it, you know. I doubt sodomy added much to my long list of sins.” Hal said, cutting John’s thoughts short. 

He smiled, patting Hal’s back. “Do it. If nothing else I ever suggest.” 

And even John couldn’t help the excitement that spread throughout his chest as he left the room.


	3. Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hal returns from battle. John comforts him.

Hal returned in a fortnight. When he did, Hotspur was dead. Dead by Hal’s own hand. He did not speak, he did not eat. The only action he seemed capable of was drinking. 

Hal took such a turn one night, that Hooper came to wake John. Beale had found him passed out in the alley behind the tavern. He was dirty, and he smelled of scat and cheap drink.

Nevertheless, John carried Hal back to his quarters. He held back his hair as he profusely vomited into his sick bucket, and he even brought him a bowl of water and a wash cloth. John took care of his prince as if he were family, because in a way, he was the only family John had left. 

Hal sat across the table from John, spittle hung from his trembling lip. Hal refused to look up, too disgusted with himself, with what he had done, to meet John’s warm gaze. Hal knew that if he were to look at John he would burst into a mess of sobs.

“Many times have I seen men in your state. I’ve been in it many times over myself.” John recalled, smoothing his palm out over his bearded face. He chuckled, scarcely able to recollect the weeks on end that he would spend in alcoholic daze after battle. 

“For all our rejoice of...courage and valor, nothing stains the soul more indelibly than killing.” 

John thought back. Back to his many years of battle and needless bloodshed. He thought of the many young lives that were cut short by his own hand.

“Never have I felt so vile...than standing victorious on a battlefield.”

John glanced over to Hal to see that he had begun to cry. His features marred by disdain and disgust in himself. John wished he could take his pain away, for he knew the torment of battle all too well.

“The thrill of victory fades quickly. What lingers long after...is always ugly.” 

“Stop talking, old man, please. Please stop talking.” And John had pretended that he could not hear the tears in Hal’s voice. Had pretended he could not see them as they dropped from his eyes onto the table beneath them.

“I will never stop talking, Hal. Not to you.” John’s voice did not waver, strong in his resolve. He would never stop talking to his Hal. 

The second time that Hal came to John’s bed, he did not cry.

Their second meeting was so unlike the first. The heat and the overwhelming passion gone. They were replaced by leisurely kisses, unhurried movements. Every touch was deliberate. Every gasp John coaxed from Hal was a gift; a reward for his languid efforts.

Hal’s eyes were shut. His eyebrows knit themselves together as John had begun to push in. John stared through the dim light with fascination at Hal as he made faces. 

John suddenly realized that nobody else had ever seen Hal like this. So raw and open. He had only ever been like this for him. 

They made love in silence. The only sounds that could be heard were Hal’s short gasps and the creaking of the bed frame.

The night was for Hal, and for Hal alone. John took his guilt, his pain, his agony, if only for a fleeting moment. 

_‘Give me your anxiety and I’ll give you Heaven.’_


	4. Loser

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John makes a mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY! I’m going to finally start getting into the plot in these next few chapters!

Their couplings became frequent and numerous after their second night. John rarely slept a night in his own bed, preferring the downy mattress in Hal’s quarters to the straw-stuffed one in his own room.

John collapsed back onto the bed, letting out a great huff of air. Hal wasted no time in curling himself under his arm and snuggling up against his side.

“Tired, old man?” Hal teased. A sweet smile adorning his beautiful face. John couldn’t remember the last time he had seen Hal smile. Not brought on by alcohol or false intimacy, but a real, genuine smile.

Although John was more than happy to do this for Hal. More than happy to warm his bed. Even he had to admit that keeping up with Hal’s...keen enthusiasm was exhausting. 

John chuckled. A deep, hearty chuckle that shook against Hal forcefully.

“You won’t be rid of me that quickly, Hal.” John said before swiftly wrapping an arm around Hal’s neck, effectively confining him into a mock headlock. John ruffled his mess of hair before ambushing him with tickles. 

Hal doubled over in a fit of laughter as he attempted to wriggle out of John’s grip. “Mercy! Please, have mercy!” He managed to get out before succumbing to another fit of giggles. 

They wrestled each other for a few more moments, a mess of sheets and limbs, before Hal finally managed to pin John down to the mattress. John leaned his head back and roared with laughter, no longer able to hold it back. Hal let his head fall down to rest on the older man’s chest; once again feeling the deep vibrations that shook them both. 

Hal loved John’s laugh. He loved the way it could carry over an entire room of people. He loved the way his cheeks and nose went red as he’d howl. And he especially loved the way John would look at him while they both laughed together. 

They soon drift back into their previous position. Hal clung to his abdomen and John held him close. A comfortable silence fell over them. 

“I’ve been meaning to ask...how did you fair during your audience with the king?” 

Hal’s face went cold and solemn. “It went as expected.” 

John was silent as he gave Hal the opportunity to continue. 

“He told me that Thomas will be king.” Hal mumbled. John could feel him withdrawing.

“And?” John had been the one to convince Hal to heed his father’s call in the first place, and he intended on knowing what had been discussed.

Hal sat up and turned to look at his companion. “And nothing.” He brought his knees up to his chest. Almost as if in defense.

John reached out to Hal and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “It’s just me, Hal. You can tell me.”

“It was nothing of substantial importance.” Hal hugged his knees to his chest tighter. 

John sighed, but he was determined to not let Hal put his walls back up. At least not around him. “Hal, please you d-.”

Hal whipped around to face him. There was an angry fire beneath his eyes that John had never seen before. “What do you wish for me to say? That my father effectively disowned me? That he humiliated me in front of his entire court? Because I do not want to speak of it!” Hal fell down onto his side, facing away from John. 

John reached out to touch Hal, but he flinched away from his grasp. A pregnant silence befell them. 

“I think I want to sleep by myself tonight.” Hal said, so quietly that John thought he had misheard him at first.

John sat, stunned. Was Hal really kicking him out of his bed?

“As you wish, Your Highness.” 

He gathered up his clothes, and left.

Later that very night John sat at the bar in the tavern soaking in drink and feeling sorry for himself. After a couple rounds his memory went hazy. He barely remembers gap-toothed Berta sitting down on the stool next to him, or her offering him a nightcap. For a small price, of course.

He isn’t entirely sure why he went to bed with gap-toothed Berta. She wasn’t particularly pretty, and he wasn’t even in the mood. John told himself it was the ale. That his drunken state was the cause of his transgression. 

It wasn’t. 

Immediately afterward the guilt had begun to seep in. 

He knew that Hal wasn’t exclusively his, so why shouldn’t the same apply to himself? Why shouldn’t he be able to call up a prostitute when he pleased? Hal did the same. How was it any different? 

Why did he feel so sick afterward? Why did he feel as though he was betraying Hal?

Despite his exhaustion sleep eluded him for some time. John couldn’t stop thinking about Hal. About what he had just done in the same bed they had shared together. About how a prostitute was sleeping in the same place that Hal had. It was already dawn when he had finally managed to drift into a light and fitful sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hal finds out.

John awoke to a knock at his door. He blinked the sleep from his eyes, groaning at the harsh sunlight streaming through the window. His head was pounding and his mouth was dry.

He scarcely remembered the previous night. Hal banishing him from his bed, going to the tavern, Berta sitting beside him, John taking her back to his room and-.

The knocking sounded off once again.

John groaned and massaged his temples. “What the bloody hell is it?!” 

“Falstaff, it is Hal. I wish to speak with you.”

And.

Well. 

Fuck.

He sat up and glanced over to his right where gap-toothed Berta still lay sleeping. He nudged her awake and motioned for her to get up. She stared at him blankly, unable to shake the sleep from her senses.

John began to panic. He tried lifting her but she did not budge. 

“What is it?” She mumbled, rubbing her eyes.

“I want to apologize for how I reacted last night. May I enter?” Hal asked from the other side of the door.

John’s mind raced as he tried to think of what he could do with Berta. “Uhhh...I’m not decent, Hal.” 

He heard a chuckle from the hallway. “Are you ever? Anyhow it’s nothing I haven’t seen before.” 

“Hal I’m still in bed I-.” John’s eyes darted around the room helplessly.

The doorknob turned and Hal entered. “Have you not gotten up yet? It’s nearly-.”

Hal froze when his gaze landed on the woman in John’s bed. 

John’s blood ran cold. He did not move from his place on the bed. 

Hal’s eyes bore into the other man’s. John shifted uncomfortably. No one spoke for what felt like an eternity.

“Get out.” Hal ordered Berta. Although he did not look at her. He couldn’t. 

The woman scrambled. Attempting to make herself as decent as possible before scurrying out of the apartment. 

Once the door closed shut behind her silence befell the two men. It was John who finally decided to speak first. 

“What is it you wanted to talk about?” He asked.

Hal’s eyes burned a hole through John.

“You son of a bitch.” Hal seethed, not moving from his spot at the door.

John scoffed. “Do not talk down to me, Hal, as if you don’t pay a visit to the whorehouse every week.” 

“Have you not taken notice to the fact that I have not had a woman in my bed since my return? That I have been loyal to you since that night?” Hal was enraged, and rightfully so.

John blinked. No, he hadn’t taken notice. He hadn’t noticed that Hal had not been with a woman in months. How could he not see it? That Hal had been completely loyal to him since that second night.

John got out of bed before pulling on a pair of trousers and a shirt. He then ambled over to the other side of the room until he stood square with Hal. They stared at each other. Hal’s gaze was angry.

John heaved out a sigh. An all too familiar guilt seeped back into his chest. 

“I am very sorry, Hal. Please forgive me.” He downcast his eyes, and it almost looked as if he were bowing down to him. His prince, and although he didn’t know it yet, his future king.

John didn’t exactly know what he was expecting, but it definitely wasn’t Hal’s fist colliding with his nose. 

The punch had taken him by surprise, that’s for sure. John stumbled backwards, clutching his face. It hadn’t been a hard punch, thankfully, but it still hurt.

“What the bloody hell was that for?” John groaned. He pulled back his hand, staring at the small amount of blood on it.

“It was a reminder. That you must stay faithful to me from now on.” Hal said as he massaged his knuckles. 

And then Hal turned and walked out of the room. 

John’s nose still stung when he went to Hal’s bed late that same night. Hal laid still, staring, when John kicked his boots off and climbed into bed beside him.

“I’m sorry.” John murmured. He laid on his side, not able to look Hal in the eye.

Hal reached out, taking John’s face in his delicate hands.

“I forgive you.” He whispered back. 

John leaned into his touch, letting out a shaky sigh. Hal tucked him under his arm. He nuzzled into his chest. Hal’s familiar warmth enveloped him.

John began to cry.


End file.
